"Damn ape!" she said. "Unhand me! Let go! You're a Neanderthal!"
"I'm just looking after you while I check the plane over," he said, and he did. Liz struggled and kicked for a couple of minutes, then just lay there having a rest while Hellboy did another circuit of the aircraft. He tried to hold in the laughter that was brewing. At first he passed it off as a burp, much to Liz's disgust. Then another rumble he put down to hunger. And then, just as his laugh burst out to deny explanation, Liz started laughing as well.
They boarded the Lear jet, holding on to each other as they climbed the steps.
* * *
"So we're going to London," Liz said.
"Yep. Back to good old Britain. Been there a lot, you know. Ireland, Scotland, Wales ... the place is steeped in history. Rich in mythology."
"Dripping with ghosts," Liz said.
"Awash with apparitions."
The Lear's jets roared, they accelerated down the runway, and Liz grasped his hand. "Swarming with specters," she mumbled.
The jet lifted clear of the runway, and Hellboy looked out the window. As always he was amazed at how quickly the ground fell away. Dawn was just rising out of the Atlantic, and down below, the freeways were starting to clog with rush-hour traffic. The low sunlight cast long shadows of houses and woods, and he wondered what hid within those shadows today. It seemed the world had changed a lot over the past twenty-four hours. For Hellboy it had never been a safe place — he had seen too much to believe that — but there had always been a balance, a natural equilibrium that had seemed to right wrongs, calm chaos, and set normality back in its place. Admittedly he often had a hand in that, but he was not arrogant enough to believe that he alone was responsible. Today, watching the land fall away below and not knowing what was to come, he felt more unsettled than he ever had before.
"Hey, HB," Liz said. "Dinner's served."
They sat and ate in companionable silence, swapping bits of food that one or the other did not like. Hellboy had a beer, and Liz took advantage of the well-stocked single-malts cabinet on the Lear. They both knew that the journey would take a few hours, so there was time to relax a little, drink a little, and reflect on what the next few days might bring.
Swirling her drink, ice clinking, Liz broke the silence at last. "It's all happened so suddenly," she said.
Hellboy nodded. "I was just thinking the same thing." He finished his beer, smacked his lips, and found himself looking forward to real British ale. Assuming he'd have time to sample it, of course.
"I hope Abe finds Abby soon."
"Yeah, he's sweet on her."
Liz continued swirling. The ice had almost melted. "She's strange."
Hellboy looked at Liz until she glanced up to meet his eyes. "You're not?" he said.
"You know what I mean, HB. There's something about her. Something hidden. She's never fully submitted herself to the BPRD, not like you, or even me. Hell, you're strange enough, but at least you admit it, you know it, and you'd happily do your best to make that less so."
"You really think so?" Hellboy said. "I thought the ladies liked an enigma."
"Well, some do."
"Then I'll retain my air of mystery, thank you very much. I'm actually an accountant from New York who collects beer mats and stamps in his spare time. I just paint myself red. It's all the rage nowadays."
"Yeah. Right." Liz finished her drink, reclined the chair, and sighed. "So ... Benedict Blake."
"I dunno, Liz. Kate's rarely wrong, and she has a mind like a damn encyclopedia. But if this is all about revenge, it seems a bit — "
"Extreme?"
"Well, yeah. If his wife really was killed in a state-sanctioned hit, whys he suddenly killing thousands of innocent people?"